The Rain on Badon Hill
by BrynEira
Summary: T Rated for mild violence. A LOTR and King Arthur crossover. After the strange return of Tristan and Lancelot, the knights embark on a quest to the depths of Middle Earth to help the re-united fellowship defeat a new foe that has its sights on our World.
1. Rain on Badon Hill

New fanfic - thought it would be interessting to have a go at a King Arthur - Lord Of The Rings crossover after reading a few. It _is _plotted out - but I'll see how it goes before posting chapter two. Constructive criticism welcomed - all spelling is in British - sorry to all the Non-Brit readers out there.

**PLOT**: When news of strange happenings around Isenguard reaches Gondor, Gandalf finds that the fugitive Orcs of Middle Earth have united under a new foe... one that has his heart bent on the conquest of Our Earth - moreover, the famous city of Camelot, hiding an unlikely secret.

**Disclaimer**: No copyright infringement intended - I own nothing except how the words are put together.

Anyway, here's chapter one - enjoy!

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**I : Rain on Badon Hill**

It was raining on Badon hill. The fields on the edge of Hadrian's Wall were littered with the bodies of men; many Saxon's, hundreds of Woads... and two Samartian knights. Gawain was carrying Tristan's body across the battlefield, which was dotted with the charred remains of haystacks, some of which were still smoking. Galahad walked beside him, when, through the hazy smoke, they caught sight of two figures kneeling over a body, a white horse snorting at his master's dead body. Gawain dropped the body he was holding, forcing Galahad to catch the bloody body as the older knight ran over to look down upon the dead body that lay there. Lancelot. And beside him, overcome with guilt, their Roman leader.

They stayed there well into the night, Arthur silent, cursing, blaming himself for the deaths of his comrades. Eventually, Bors put a hand on his leader's shoulder.

"Arthur. We must return."

Arthur nodded once, and wearily rose to his feet, Guinevere by his side. Silent, the knights rode back to the wall, Arthur carrying the body of Lancelot, and Galahad that of Tristan. Merlin greeted them as they entered the fort, and took Lancelot's limp body from the hands of Arthur somewhat hurriedly, and the tired Roman retired to his room. The other two remaining knights slipped away into the darkness, Bors to the tavern and Gawain to brush his horse, no doubt wanting time alone to think over the price victory had cost.

This left Galahad alone with Tristan's body at his feet. Galahad looked at the body uneasily. He eventually escaped his thoughts and, sighing heavily, bent down to pick up the body. But he immediately jumped back, startled. Was it his imagination, or did Tristan blink? A well of hope filled up inside Galahad, and, though he tried to mask his excitement, knowing if he was wrong it would come hard, Galahad was brimming with it. He tried a stern face, which undoubtedly made him look a little stupid. Come on now, Galahad. It was only the wind. _But there is no wind!_ Well, then it was when you moved his body. _But you didn't!_ _You were __**about**__ to_. The two voices argued back and forth inside his head.

"Oh shut up!" Galahad found himself shouting, making a horse spook and Jols, who had been mucking out the horses' stall, jump up with surprise. He looked at Galahad, shocked.  
"Oh... Jols..." Galahad found himself lost for words. "Umm... you're... making... too much noise?" Galahad said with a questioning tone to his voice. Realising this would sound as if he wasn't sure, he cleared his throat and started again in a voice that held more authority.  
"You were making too much noise." Jols simply nodded once, finding Galahad's behaviour to be somewhat strange, but didn't question it, believing it to be an aftershock of the battle, and he led the still panicking horse out of the stables to see the blacksmith.

Galahad sighed with relief, and turned back to the body at his feet. He was still considering what to do when an almost inaudible choked cough escaped the scout's lips, and Galahad froze... his heart skipping a beat. Now that he was sure Tristan was alive, he hadn't the slightest idea what to do. He supposed he should call the others, but found himself in an utter state of panic, not completely sure if it was indeed the right decision to tell the other knights, almost as if his conscience was warning him against it, but he was so shaken he couldn't care less.

"Hello? Tristan?" Galahad hovered over the still form. Suddenly Tristan blinked, and his icy eyes bored up into Galahad's own. Galahad started. "Tristan!" A long pause followed. Galahad, who had expected some kind of response, was taken aback. "Hold on while I get help..." Galahad trailed off, as he considered what he exactly _was_ going to do.  
"Err... Tristan! Stay with me! I'm just going to... to... to tell Bors! Yes, don't worry, Bors will be here soon!" He was sure his panicky voice wouldn't be helping Tristan, but he seemed to be doing it sub-consciously. His legs feeling rather numb, he stumbled past the stables and caught sight of the tavern, and Bors, who was clearly quite drunk. Galahad winced.

_Maybe not..._ He thought, as he veered off to try and find Gawain. He rounded the corner of the stables, and conveniently found himself nearly bumping into the very knight he had been looking for. Gawain looked over the top of his horses' saddle that he was carrying and frowned down at Galahad.

"Galahad! Watch where you're going!" Gawain sounded pretty startled. Galahad opened his mouth, then closed it again, his breath coming out in gasps.

"There's... He's... Tristan's alive! Gawain! He's alive!" Galahad managed to splutter. Gawain's jaw line was clenched, and his whole body seemed to tense up when Galahad said this.

"Galahad, please, I'm not in the mood for this!"

"But... But..." Galahad stammered innocently.

"GALAHAD! Go play you're drunken _pranks_ on somebody else!" Gawain roared, storming past his friend, and leaving Galahad staring after him in confusion.

Galahad considered shouting after him, but hesitated. Gawain just didn't want to know. Galahad kicked a rock in frustration, which caused him to yelp, before he finally resorted to sending the retreating back of Gawain evil glares. He turned to where the white moonlight lit the courtyard in a dim glow. A sudden thought hit him. _What if Tristan wasn't dead earlier, but was now_? He quickly grabbed his friend's body and hoisted him up onto his shoulders before staggering into his quarters, where he laid Tristan's body on the hard bed.  
"Right!" He said to himself. "What now...?"

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**Next Chapter (Spoiler - Don't say I didn't warn you.): **_Tristan turns out to be alive, but injured. Gandalf__ meets with Galahad, and gives Galahad some useful advice._


	2. Wizards

**Chpater 2**. Like I said on my profile, I'm having to re-write most of it, so it will take a bit longer than expected - thank you to the people who reviewed!

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Suddenly, a voice behind him spoke.

"Well, for a start you should put down your blade. It's not very reassuring." Galahad spun round, his sword already flashing in front of him, to see an old man with long white hair, white cloak and a wooden staff. The man seemed unfazed, and in his casual voice continued.

"Stop the bleeding, make sure he doesn't _die_ of hunger, and, most importantly you will not speak a word of this to anyone." At this last point the man lifted his staff into his right hand, his voice low and dangerous. Galahad did not move, and his sword stayed held firmly in his grip.

"Who are you?" He asked between clenched teeth.

The man looked at Galahad for a moment through narrowed eyes, as if assessing him. Eventually, he answered.

"I am Gandalf. Now put down your sword, I will not be treated like an Orc thank you very much."

Galahad frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, umm..." Gandalf, who had been about to make himself at home beside the fireplace, turned. "Never mind."

Hesitantly, Galahad returned his sword to its sheath. Gandalf meanwhile, was happily relaxing in the wooden armchair beside the crackling fire, which the servants must have readied.

"Wood next to a fire, eh? Original idea." He muttered to himself as he tried to get comfortable. It looked as if he would be staying a while. And then to Galahad,

"Now, before I give you a run down, you wouldn't happen to have a pipe, would you?"

One hour, three pipes and several misunderstandings later, the man who addressed himself as Gandalf, sat back with a heavy sigh, whilst Galahad sat down heavily on the bed. It had been a very long hour. First, Galahad had had to try and sneak a pipe from Bors (Galahad was still wandering what Bors had been doing with a pipe, seeing as he didn't smoke. "Just in case", he had said), which had ended up in a row, in which Bors finally gave in and sat down to find his pipe, then found he'd lost it, so they'd spent a good length of time searching for it before Bors realised he was sitting on it – and it had obviously been crushed.

Annoyed, Galahad had then crept into the kitchen and 'borrowed' the kitchen master's pipe (he was Roman, and he _did_ smoke), earning him quite a number of death threats from the kitchen master, who had been behind the door and was wielding a rolling pin. Galahad then bolted back to his room, but in his hurry he tripped and sent the pipe flying over the open-sided wall and into the tavern, where Bors picked it up, believing it to be his (And obviously forgetting he'd just crushed it), so Galahad returned to Gandalf only to be sent off again in search of bandages.

Assuming there would be some in the healer's room, he had walked in to find himself in the wrong room with a very angry woman half asleep in bed, who ironically turned out to be the kitchen master's wife, who then tried to murder Galahad with the rolling pin (yet again). Galahad had escaped with only a black eye and swollen lip, and on the way back bumped into the Healer, who just happened to be carrying a good length of spare bandages and an old pipe he didn't need any more.

Galahad's ankle still hurting from where he had tripped, he had run in and given Gandalf the pipe and the bandages.

They had then tried the stop Tristan's bleeding, only to find that during the time that Galahad was searching for piping and Gandalf was searching for more wood for the fire, Tristan had woken and, being the resourceful scout he was, bandaged himself up with linen from the sheets and happily returned to sleep. He still didn't seem to notice he was in Galahad's room.

"Well. At least we know he's awake!" Gandalf said cheerfully. Galahad scowled.

"Yes. Fabulous. Just remind him to rip up his own bed next time." Galahad didn't feel like being sympathetic toward Tristan, and he certainly didn't feel like being happy and cheerful toward Gandalf.

"Mmm." Gandalf didn't seem to be taking much notice of Galahad. He sighed, wandering off into his thoughts again.

"OK, _Gandalf_, what was it you so desperately needed to tell me that I had to earn a black eye and swollen lip for?" Galahad glared at Gandalf whilst gingerly touching his lip.

"Oh! Yes, of course! Now, you must listen very closely. A friend of mine, Merlin, I believe you know him, is going to ask you to go somewhere. He will tell you all that you must travel north, and ride through a misty pass, where..." Gandalf stopped for a moment, as if deciding whether to leave the next bit out. Finally he carried on. "... Where you will have to save the land from destruction, and if you fail – well... let's just say it would be a bad idea, hmm? It is vitally important that you take Tristan with you, but don't let anyone know until you have ridden through the large pass where you can't see the other side." Gandalf seemed to think this highly important, and was talking in an urgent whisper. A moment passed.

"... Is that it?" Galahad was still glaring at Gandalf.

"Yes. Oh, no. Remember to bring all your weapons, and all his. Now, that's all." With that he rose to his feet.

"Anyway, I've got work to do. You just sit here and look intelligent, would you, son?" And before Galahad could answer back, Gandalf was gone in a flash of light. Galahad blinked, still fuming. _Look_ intelligent? As if to say he wasn't already?

* * *

Three days had passed since Galahad had met Gandalf, and in that three days a lot had been happening. Firstly, everyone had been told (By I have no idea who, _wink, wink, nudge, nudge_) that Galahad was having an affair with the kitchen master's wife. Galahad had decided not to eat breakfast that day, just as a precaution. There was Tristan's 'burial' and Lancelot's burning. There was Arthur's wedding and official recognition as King. _Whatever that means,_ Galahad had thought at the time, but he clapped anyway, supposing it to be a good thing.

What he didn't know was that, the same night Gandalf disappeared, no one had entered the surgery except Merlin, carrying Lancelot's body, and yet not one, not two, but three voices could be heard coming from behind the door, all whispering quickly (apart from the third voice, which was rather loud and slurred).

Neither did anyone know that, the same night Gandalf disappeared, another white cloaked man with a black staff, and a hood that shadowed his face, crept around in the darkness, watching, waiting, until finally vanishing into the night.

But at the moment, Galahad was busy complaining... again. This time it was Bors.

"Bors! Will you please stop calling me a girl?!"

Bors grinned. "You mean you're not?" He asked, plastering mock astonishment across his face.

Galahad raised his fist, intending to punch Bors in the (well padded) stomach, when Gawain walked up, unfortunately between them. Even more unfortunate was the fact Galahad had already thrown his punch, and it landed quite squarely on Gawain's ribs.

"Ooof!" Gawain staggered backwards, throwing looks like daggers at a shocked Galahad, who returned them at a very happy-looking Bors, who just grinned even more. Fortunately for Galahad, Gawain didn't look like he was going to start a fight, which was good, because Gawain probably would have won. Instead he straightened up, and then strode over to the tavern table again, making sure he was out of fist range.

"Arthur wants to see us all." He said, sounding none the worst as he growled,  
"It's urgent."

Bors put down his enormous jar of ale, and made a point of slamming it right next to Galahad's small cup of water. Galahad scowled. Gandalf had instructed him not to drink in case he blurted anything out, and had warned him that, if he did, Galahad may have to be turned into a frog, and at the moment Galahad didn't fancy that idea much. He'd eaten frogs before.

As he followed them into the room of the round table, he realised they weren't the only ones who were attending the meeting. It turned out Merlin was, too. _Oh, what a pleasant surprise._ Galahad thought to himself sarcastically.

They all sat down, except Merlin, who stayed standing.

"Knights," he began, addressing the table.

"We have gathered you here today to warn you of a great threat that threatens to destroy your entire kingdom." The sincerity in Merlin's face seemed frighteningly real.  
"There is only one way to stop this force," Merlin continued. Galahad gave a silent sigh. He knew where this was going. _We must travel to the North._

_  
_"You must travel to the North," _And ride through a misty pass._

_  
_"And ride through a misty pass," _Where we must save that land from destruction._

"Where you'll then encounter deadly traps, terrifying enemies, and false allies," Galahad frowned. He hadn't been told about that bit. "And save the land from destruction from a formidable foe if you wish your world to be left standing." Galahad sighed. Gandalf seemed to have left a bit out.

"You must embark on this perilous quest straight away if you want your kingdom to survive the onslaught it is doomed to recieve." Galahad sighed. That didn't give much time to pack. Arthur stood up wearing a rather worried expression.

"We must leave? Now?"

"At once."

For a moment Galahad thought Arthur was going to object, but he managed to hold his tongue – to Merlin, that is.

"Knights! Prepare for a journey. Pack your weapons. Jols! JOLS!" Jols, who had heard Arthur from the stable, could be seen running up toward the round table. He came in, panting and rather out of breath.  
"Jols! Prepare the horses for a journey. A long one. And Merlin will be coming too." Jols nodded and ran off again.  
"Knights, you will need your swords, shields, daggers, armour, blankets, bows, quivers, spare quivers," Arthur was suddenly cut off by Bors.

"Yeah, Arthur. We've done this a million times, we know how to do it again." He mumbled, dreading having to tell Vanora he was leaving again. Arthur, still counting on his fingers, nodded.

"Right, right. I'll go and pack. Be ready by noon."

_Noon_! Galahad thought. _How am I ever going to be ready by noon?_ Wasting no more time, he quickly ran to his room and stopped. How was he going to take Tristan? Suddenly the door swung open, and Merlin strode in. Galahad stood motionless, staring at the Woad wizard in horror.

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**Next Chapter (Spoiler):** _Merlin tells Galahad that Lancelot lives, and the knights set off on their quest to Middle Earth._


End file.
